


Fitzwilliam and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by stillslightlynerdy



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:19:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillslightlynerdy/pseuds/stillslightlynerdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because sometimes it's like that ... even in Arendelle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to Requ who, in A Formal Arrangement ... read it now if you haven't, it's awesome ... created the Comtesse. I am merely borrowing her and probably not doing her justice. My additional thanks to grrlgeek72 for proofing and improving my work.

"No!" Fitzwilliam yelled. "No, not straight in. If you keep coming straight in and straight out then I don't even have to think about blocking."

Anna let out a frustrated sigh. "But I just don't see how to get over there." She pointed to some vague space next to Fitz. "I mean you have a sword, too."

"You move mine," Fitz replied sharply as if this was the upteenth time she had said this, which it was. Anna was catching on quickly, but Fitz was a firm believer in saving praise for truly praiseworthy moments, and this was not one of them. "En garde," Both she and Anna brought their weapons up. "Now, beat... or even better," Fitz stepped forward with her left arm out catching Anna's blade with her forearm and sweeping it out of the way as she continued past touching her blade to the places where Anna was now vulnerable.

"Ow," said Anna wrinkling her nose at the thought of actually touching a sword with an unarmored limb. "If I had a real edge on this, wouldn't that hurt?"

Fitz glanced heavenward. Anna was a motivated student, a fairly diligent student, but she was also the most argumentative student she had ever had … clearly Fitz had not yet instilled the proper attitude of fear. With a grunt she put her sword back in its scabbard, and then she untied her left sleeve at the wrist and shoved the cloth up. She had a series of scars, mostly parallel lines that wrapped around the outside of her forearm. Some of them seemed severe, wider and more prominent; some were barely visible; some overlapped with another or several.

"Not all of these men," she said indicating the scars, "are alive today. I am. Yes, it hurts. But the ability to feel pain is a nice reminder that I prefer alive to dead, at least for myself."

Anna mouthed an "oh," still looking at the scars.

"Now, can we try this again? I want you to attack from a different line every time. I will only defend, unless you provide too tempting a target," Fitz said.

"Sure ..." Anna bounced into her starting position.

As Fitz moved into her own en garde position she heard the snap of the guards at the main door coming to attention. Then she heard the sound of shoes on the gravel. She smiled. She turned. "Your Majesty," she said with a bow, delight coloring her voice. When she looked up though, her smiled faded. Elsa was staring at her, her jaw clenched, her eyes cold.

"This is for you," she extended a small square envelope. "It came with the morning mail. I am afraid I opened it thinking it was for me." Her eyes narrowed and her tone crackled like sharp ice, "I did not read it." Then without even a good bye the queen turned and walked far too calmly back into the castle.

Anna let out a low whistle once the doors had closed. "Whoa, she's angry. What the hell did you do?"

Fitz looked down at the envelope in confusion. Who even knew she was here? But it was clearly addressed to her, although as "Captain Millicent Fitzwilliam." Just as clearly it was from someone who knew her well enough to know her first name, and there were not that many people who did.

Anna snatched the letter from her hand and danced backward to keep it away from her. "What is it?" she asked. "A love letter?"

Fitz lunged at her as she pulled the letter from the envelope only managing to grab the latter while Anna backed up further still, the letter in her hand. Even through the stink of their sweat soaked clothing the scent of expensive perfume filled the air.

"Oh..." said Anna suddenly embarrassed. "It is."

Fitz snatched the letter back and looked at it. The salutation, 'Mon Cherí,' told her enough that she didn't even have to look at the back of the envelope for the name. She did anyway, and a cold wave spread up from her boots to the top of her head. "Damn," she whispered.

"Hmmm?" Anna was suddenly leaning over her shoulder, "What does it say?"

"None of your business," Fitz snapped. She folded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope. Re-sheathing her sword, she turned to head back into the castle.

"I wouldn't go talk to her just yet," Anna offered. "She needs a moment to … you know."

Fitz thought if the girl said, "cool down" she would smack her. Fortunately Anna seemed to understand that.

"That was her  _very angry_  face … you know, her  _'Kill Hans, Impale the Duke'_  face. You don't want to mess with that."

"Fine," Fitz took another deep breath. She would find someplace private to read the letter then.

"Don't you want to practice?" Anna asked helpfully.

"No," Fitz snarled, continuing with an utter lack of irony. "I might kill you."

"Oh," Anna said quietly.

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Fitz sat on the chair near their bed and pulled the letter out. She needed to know what was actually in the letter. How could the Comtesse know she was here? How had this happened? Letters were lost all the time in the iffy mail service of the continent, which god had she offended so in her short life that this would manage to get here … and so quickly?

The perfume wafted up, its scent immediately sending her back to the time and place where she had met Lady Charlotte. Fitz blushed red, even though it had been years, even though she was certainly a more worldly woman now. Not, however, she thought trying to banish the unwanted images that flitted through her mind, quite as worldly as the Comtesse was.

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It was a dreary day in Frisia, the dueling ground was slick with dew and now with blood. Lieutenant Fitzwilliam, first lieutenant of the frigate Indomitable, wiped her sword on the coat of the man writhing on the ground in front of her. Then she looked back at the small crowd assembled.

"Does anyone here feel that honor is not satisfied? Does Lord Hitzig have a second?" she called out.

A thin and now very pale man stepped forward from the crowd. "Honor is satisfied," he said in a nervous voice.

"Then get this trash out of here," Fitzwilliam said pointing to Hitzig who was moaning and presently unable to stand. The Frisian lord had some superficial cuts on his arm, and a stab wound on his right hand, where Fitzwilliam's thrust had caught him forcing him to continue with his weapon in his left. She would have allowed him to yield then if he had agreed to retract his words about her publicly. But he had refused. She had switched her sword hand at that time as well; there was no point in being unchivalrous when victory was so close at hand.

Her thrust to his thigh followed by a slice across his Achilles tendon had finished it though. He would still be able to walk once he recovered, but he would always limp... a reminder of his humiliation today at the hands of an "ill-bred" woman.

Fitzwilliam swaggered back to where her shipmates stood.

"Nice work, ma'am," Lieutenant Hanson, her second both here and on the Indomitable said. "You sliced him up like a Christmas goose."

"Indeed," Fitzwilliam grunted, "If you're going to be that slow, you should really have a civil mouth." She sheathed her sword in her sword belt and then took her coat from Hanson. When she looked back up Hanson was gesturing behind her.

She turned and then took a step back. In front of her, much too close, stood a woman. Even in the early morning light Fitz could see she was stunning, her presence made all the more real by the provocative dress she had on. Fitz had heard rumors about Gallic styles for women; this must have been such a dress. The lady's chestnut hair hung loosely down her back contrasting nicely with the deep green of her dress. She had a matching green parasol that would keep off a light drizzle and nothing more, but something about this woman said she spent very little time in the outdoors … that most of her activities went on inside.

"Well done, Lieutenant. Nicely played," she said extending her gloved hand. "I am the Comtesse de Artois, Lady Charlotte."

Fitz bowed over her glove and replied, "Your Excellency, thank you."

"Oh, please … call me Charlotte," Her voice was low and throaty, a seductive purr. She cast her gaze at Fitz looking her up and down, clearly an inspection, before bringing her eyes squarely to the Lieutenant's. Fitzwilliam had never had a woman … well, a woman dressed like this … do that to her before.

"Charlotte," Fitzwilliam repeated. "And what might I do to be of service to you, Lady Charlotte?"

"Just Charlotte," she said. "And it seems like I may need accompaniment home. I came with Hitzig" she gestured dismissively at the lord being carried off the field by his friends, but now it looks like he is not in any shape to call a carriage. And you know to the victor …."

"Ah," Fitzwilliam said eyes wide, thinking she must have misheard. "I will call you a carriage as it would seem that I do bear some responsibi … uh."

Hanson elbowed her in the ribs. "Lieutenant," he said teasingly, "It wouldn't be right to allow the Lady to travel alone."

"It really wouldn't," repeated the Comtesse running her fingertip up Fitzwilliam's arm.

Fitz almost fell over at the impropriety. This woman was touching her … like that … in public. "Of course, I'll get us a carriage immediately," she stammered, and she stumbled backward. Finding a carriage wasn't hard, the drivers knew that everyone here would have to use one to get where they were going. When she returned she found Hanson and the Comtesse laughing heartily. She realized that Hanson was telling a story of another duel she had fought at the last port in which they had docked.

The Comtesse looked at Fitzwilliam and smiled, "It seems you find trouble wherever you go, Lieutenant."

"I like to think trouble finds me, Your Excellency," she replied.

"And look, it has again," Lady Charlotte's smile was predatory. "Are we ready to go?"

Fitz could only nod. She vaguely heard Hanson reminding her that they were shipping out on Monday; god that was three days away …. she would surely see him before then. Probably in mere hours since they had rooms at the same inn.

It only took until they were both seated in the carriage for Fitz to realize how wrong she was. The Comtesse pulled the curtains to block the windows and then moved so she sat nearly on Fitz's lap. Her gloved fingers insinuated themselves under the Lieutenant's collar length hair and then began a slow dance on her neck. She leaned in, her lips very near Fitzwilliam's ear.

"I have heard that you prefer the company of women, Lieutenant."

Fitz couldn't breathe. That was direct. Finally she choked out, "yes."

The Comtesse chuckled, "Good. While I am rather more … omnivorous … you are very interesting, very compelling. I am hopeful you might agree to stay as my guest for a bit. So we might get to know each other better."

Fitz had no idea what to say to that.

"I'll take your silence as a yes," she purred. Then she used Fitz's coat to pull her into a kiss. The kiss was deep and lasted a good while. As Lady Charlotte's lips and tongue explored her mouth she felt her hands moving underneath her waistcoat …. then pulling her shirt out from her trousers. Fitz made a small gasp as she felt warm hands across her abdomen. Lady Charlotte released her from the kiss and leaned back.

"It is rather a long ride to my estate. I think you would be more comfortable with your coat off."

Fitz nodded and removed her coat and her gloves. Then she surveyed the woman in front of her. She exuded sensuality and a forwardness that Fitz had never seen before. Clearly this would be a challenge, she thought, but one that looked quite … interesting. She might not be a match for this Comtesse, but she was certainly willing to try. She turned, so that one knee was braced on the floor of the carriage, and she pushed the Lady Charlotte back on the seat to return the kiss. This kiss was rougher, more tongue, more teeth, but that seemed only to please the lady more. Her hands slid up Lady Charlotte's bodice to caress her bare shoulders. Breath quickened and there was a small moan, she wasn't sure whose it was. Then she was pushed away, away and down so that she ended up kneeling before the Lady. Well, this would be interesting Fitz thought, she'd never done this in a moving carriage before.

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Fitzwilliam's eyes quickly moved down the page to discern the contents of the letter and distract herself from her memories. Hanson. By god, it had been Hanson. She could skewer him, and well, she could blame Elsa, too, if she dared. Apparently the Vigilant had begun taking on water not too long after it sailed from Arendelle. They had made port at the first neutral place they could find, which turned out to be the Free City of Bremen. From there news had traveled fast, it wasn't often that a ship from the mighty Avalonian Navy turned up half destroyed and missing a mast as if it had been yanked up from the heavens by an angry god. So the Comtesse had come to pay her respects. She was living nearby, the paramour of some Prince or another, and had found out the rest of the story. Hanson had no doubt thought it funny to set the Comtesse on her trail. He hadn't really liked her, but he had always enjoyed how out of sorts she made Fitz feel.

Yes, out of sorts. Fitz knew it wasn't love, or even affection she had felt toward the Comtesse. It was the feeling that a mouse had just before it was devoured by a cat, and the lady did play with her food. She winced, that was an unfortunate image, and the parallel images she had from memory were even more unfortunate. At the time, and she had been younger, Fitz had enjoyed the way the liaison had felt – unpredictable, dangerous. With the Comtesse one never knew who was going to come out on top … and damn, another unfortunate image.

Fitz sank back into the chair and rubbed her temples. This whole thing was unfortunate. Part of her, a growing part, was getting defensive. She had done nothing wrong, well not recently. The other part knew that it really didn't matter how defensive or defensible this might actually be … perception was everything.

She heard the door to Elsa's private office slam shut with a bang just as the temperature sank. She sighed again. She was clearly losing the perception battle. She had never any desire to be in the infantry, but yet as she stood and prepared to go speak with Elsa, she thought, "once more unto the breach."

Fitz knocked. She waited for the terse, "Come in," before she walked into the room. There wasn't actually any ice or snow anywhere, but if there had been it wouldn't have melted. Fitz shivered, only partially from the cold.

"Yes?" Elsa glanced up at her and then fixed her stony gaze on whatever document was in front of her.

"You're angry."

Elsa did not look at her. "Do you want points for observation or understatement?"

If Carolina could just explain, "It was Hanson."

"I think not. Mr. Hanson has better taste than to wear that cloying perfume."

"No, who told her I was here. I didn't tell her that."

"And?" Elsa still kept her concentration on her work.

"I won't deny that I knew her, but it was a long time ago. I … I ... I didn't even know you existed then."

Now Elsa looked up at her, but Carolina saw that it wasn't a sign of improvement in their relations. "Oh, do continue with that line of thought," she said in a deadly even tone. "I hope you like the sofa in the library."

Course correction … tack, tack … hell, come about, her brain screamed at her.

"I just don't see why this bothers you so much. It's not like I chose her over you, in fact I did quite the opposite." It was then that Carolina realized she had tacked right across the wind and into a blizzard with all her sail out. Ripped to shreds was likely to be an understatement.

"You don't see why this bothers me?" Elsa stood up, and they were eye to eye. "Have you forgotten that she was your 'port' in the storm just a month ago? Because I certainly haven't!"

Seven weeks ago, seven whole weeks ago, Carolina thought, but wisely kept that information to herself.

"And, I don't even know who we're talking about? You have yet to tell me who this mysterious lady is who finds it appropriate to send you perfumed letters."

Reluctantly Carolina answered. "She is the Comtesse of Artois, Lady Charlotte. I am sure you don't know her. You travel in ... different circles."

"I imagine we do," Elsa snapped. "And if I used my prerogative as queen to make inquiries in the smoking rooms of the continent?"

"You would find she has a bit of a … reputation."

"For what?"

Carolina blushed furiously. "You know for what, damn it."

"And did you … employ this woman?"

"No! I couldn't aff ..." Carolina caught herself before she sunk her ship any deeper. "Oh my god, Elsa. Why would you even want to know that?"

"It's all in an effort to see what makes you tick, dear." Elsa made the endearment sound like a curse. "I would hate to think that I am not meeting the expectations you have of a woman. It seems like you might have requirements I hadn't even thought of. I like to understand my competition."

"She's not your competition. She's not even in your league.  _I'm_  not really in her league."

Elsa's eyebrow arched, "You might want to leave now," she suggested with ill disguised venom. "While you still have a place to sleep indoors."

More than a little cowed, the former Captain Fitzwilliam who had braved cannons and cutlasses, beat her retreat.

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The problem was, Fitzwilliam thought, what to get a queen when you needed to make up with her. Jewelry was right out, Elsa had all she ever needed. A dress? Well, there was another good idea shot to hell. She supposed there was chocolate, but that seemed so obvious. A good backup plan, though. She decided on flowers. It was summer; there was a good selection, which was rare at any other time in Arendelle, and flowers were a universal symbol for "please forgive me, I'm an idiot," right?

"So all I need to do is to take her the flowers, and tell her they are from you," Olaf said.

"Yes, that's it perfectly." Fitz smiled down at the snowman.

"Tell me again why you're not doing this yourself?"

"Ummm," Fitz thought. "I want it to be a surprise."

"OK," Olaf answered. Fortunately, while he was remarkably perceptive about emotions, he was still fairly inexperienced with how they manifested.

The snowman trundled off to Elsa's study. Fitz paced back and forth in the third floor hallway waiting for what she hoped was the good news and the sound of slippered feet coming toward her. She could imagine a long hug. Her heartfelt apology into Elsa ear. A kiss … perhaps another kiss … something to remind Elsa that she truly thought only of her.

Eventually Olaf came back. Only Olaf. "She wanted me to give these to you," he said cheerfully, handing Fitz the same bundle of flowers he had taken from her, now with their blooms completely frozen. "She said something … that you might want to make friends with the head groom. Then she laughed. It was a weird laugh. Not her usual laugh. Is she feeling OK?"

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Fitz sighed and went to ponder her next move.

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"Oh no! I'll brave Ice Storm Elsa for a lot of reasons, but getting  **your**  foot out of  **your**  mouth isn't one of them." Anna turned her back on Fitz and continued polishing her "real" rebated sword.

"But I need your help. She loves you. She'll listen to you." Fitz said, a little disgusted at the way her voice started to whine.

"And what exactly am I supposed to say," Anna shot back. "Fitz is sorry she made the beast with two backs with some floozy courtesan who has a reputation all over Europe."

"You could stop at the 'Fitz is sorry part,'" she said.

"And what exactly did you do with this woman because Captain Larsson seemed really shocked that you knew her?"

Oh wonderful, Fitz thought, and now it's castle gossip. "We didn't do half the things that everyone is thinking we did," Fitz snarled back. That was a lie, but she needed to start salvaging her reputation somewhere. "And it was a long time ago."

"Nope. I can't do it. It's not going to work anyway," Anna replied. "And in case you wondered, I'm not on your side in this."

Fitz wracked her brain. "Alright. Hold on, wait right here." Fitz dashed down to their bedroom where fortunately all of her things were still resident. She took that as a good sign. She grabbed a bundle from the closet. She ran back to Anna.

"Here," she extended the bundle. "I was going to wait a bit, but I'll give you this now if you help me."

Anna unwrapped a real edged sword. Her first real sword. It was beautiful; it shined in the light through the windows. She jumped up and down for a moment, and then stopped to give Fitz another dose of the stink-eye. "OK, I'll try, but I can't promise anything."

Fitz handed her a box of chocolates. "Here's my peace offering. Tell her that I only think of her. Tell her..." she sighed, "Tell her whatever you think you should. It's my fault. I'm sorry."

Anna snatched the box of chocolates from Fitzwilliam's hand and fastened the sword to the belt at her waist. Then with a wave she strode off in the direction of Elsa's study.

Anna was gone a long time. Fitz actually moved her pacing down to the second floor and finally to the first where she stopped by the kitchens for a snack. News of her exile must have made it through the palace because the cook threw her out before she could even lay eyes on a roll. Clearly this was going to be a hungry as well as uncomfortable night if she didn't manage to make up with Elsa. But the length of Anna's absence was a good sign, she assured herself. Elsa had to be listening to her.

She saw Anna coming down the stairs and ran over to her. "Good news?" she asked.

Anna shook her head, no. Fitz couldn't help but notice the chocolate smear on the corner of her mouth. "The chocolates were good, though. But she's still really angry. I mean, I didn't even know she knew some of those words. I'd really hate to be you right now." Anna held up a bunch of carrots. "Here, take these. That way you can make friends with Sven … in case you need someone to talk to."

Fitz dejectedly took the carrots. The way today was going she would probably need them for supper.

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"... but you were raised by love experts."

Kristoff shot a look at Fitz. "Yeah, and I'll tell you what the love experts would say."

"What?" said Fitz hopefully.

"Don't let a lover from your past send you a perfumed letter that lands on the desk of your lover of the present."

Fitz restrained herself from punching him.

"Listen, she'll get over it," Kristoff continued. "She just needs a little time to sort through her feelings. That's probably what she's doing now. I mean she forgave herself for almost killing Anna."

"That took thirteen years!" Fitz yelped.

"But she did get over it," Kristoff replied.

Fitz looked down at the hay and kicked it into a pile. She had already shared her carrots with Sven. The reindeer had seemed initially surprised that she was more of a "one whole carrot for you, one whole carrot for me" sort of person as opposed to exchanging bites. But still he had enjoyed the carrots. All in all, Fitz decided it was her most successful exchange of the day.

She sat down in the hay and put her head in her hands. Kristoff just shook his head, and said to Sven, "Com'on buddy, I think Fitz needs some alone time."

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It was a miserable night. She had considered getting drunk, but her wallet was up in their bedroom, and clearly that was not someplace she was welcome tonight. Plus her situation was unlikely to improve with a hangover … or any other unfortunate tavern related incidents that might get back to the queen.

She was up with the sunrise, not because she wanted to be, or because she had enough sleep, but because it came beaming into the stable and all the horses started snorting and stamping. When she tried to roll over and cover her eyes she realized she was snuggled up to Sven. That woke her fully and she sat up and moved to the far corner of the stall. It was like a nightmare she couldn't escape from.

She walked over to a water barrel near the stable door and plunged her head in. After she had washed her face and pushed her hair roughly into place with her fingers, removing most of the straw that had stuck there, she felt a little better. Clearly the best solution was to wait. She had faith that eventually Elsa would decide to let her out of the dog house … or stable in this case. She just hoped the time was measured in days not years.

Since she was here for the duration, she decided she could be helpful. Later, as the grooms and stable boys began to file in she located the head groom. She pretended not to notice his face twitching in repressed laughter when he asked if she had slept well. After that he had given her a pitchfork, a shovel, and the rough order that the horses were exercised in. Fitzwilliam had worked in a stable when she was much younger, and she was pleased to find that the skill of mucking out a stall seemed to stay with you.

There were a few uncomfortable moments. Not everyone in the stable knew her, and she was an odd figure in her formerly white shirt and buckskin breeches. She heard a little mumbling along the lines of "next thing the bloody queen'll be pitching hay" … but on the whole she felt welcome, and it kept from brooding on her current plight.

She was sorry. Very sorry. In fact, by this time she was quite sorry she had even met the Comtesse. Still, she didn't see what she could do about it. The fact was they had met. They had been intimate. They had corresponded on occasion. And the damn letter had been sent. These were all things Fitz could not fix.

At lunchtime, Anna stopped by with a sandwich and an apple. Fitz wolfed down the sandwich but offered the apple to Sven. She wanted to make sure she stayed in the good graces of her current bunkmate. She wouldn't make that mistake again.

During the afternoon she noticed Olaf lingering around outside. Finally he hissed at her and waved her over.

"Hi Fitz," he whispered.

"Hello Olaf," she whispered back. Then she asked, "Why are we whispering?"

"Oh," he said, "Elsa said to quietly keep an eye on you. So I don't want to make too much noise."

A broad smile lit up Fitzwilliam's face for the first time in twenty-four hours. "OK, I'll keep quiet, too," she said.

Olaf then pulled his nose out of his face and examined it. "It looks like it's working fine," he said still whispering. "So wow, you don't smell very good." He then tried to remedy that by holding his nose at arms length away from her.

"I really need a bath," Fitz agreed. Then she leaned in conspiratorially, "So what is Elsa doing right now?"

"Oh she's in a meeting. I think she has meetings all day."

Fitz weighed the risk versus reward. She really wanted to get out of these clothes. She  **really**   **did not**  want to anger Elsa any further. In the end it was Olaf who made the decision for her.

"I bet if you went right now, you could get all clean, so you could talk to Elsa. I don't think she likes the smell of reindeer … and whatever else you seem to have gotten on you. I do know she wants to talk to you."

Fitzwilliam put that in the category of "practically an invitation from the queen herself" and quickly followed the snowman in.

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She was happy to finally get the smell of stable out of her hair as well as the last few bits of straw. She donned a clean shirt and clean breeches. She brought her dirty clothing downstairs to the laundry herself and gave her coat and waistcoat to a footman in the hopes that he could get the smell of reindeer out of them. Then she went back to the bedroom, took off her boots and lay down on the bed. She quickly fell asleep.

She awoke from a dream that the Vigilant was sinking with her on it, and that every time she got her head above water either Elsa or the Comtesse, or both together, pushed her back under. In the dream it was not the least bit odd they were working together, in fact they seemed to mutually enjoy that she was drowning. She then realized that she had awoken because there was a drip, drip, drip of ice water on her face.

She sat up abruptly. And then saw where the water was coming from. "Hello," she said in a conciliatory tone.

"I am a little surprised to see you here," Elsa replied, dissolving the ice with a snap.

"Olaf invited me," Carolina said, nodding. "I really couldn't tell him no."

That earned her a smirk, which was much better than the glares of yesterday. "Did he?"

Carolina nodded again, and then she took a deep breath, "So I'm so ….."

Elsa cut off her apology. "I know you are sorry; I have received that message several times in the last two days."

Carolina looked at her and then to the floor. "Well, what would you have me say?"

Elsa thought. "Say? Hmmm." She seemed to come to a conclusion, and she sat down on the bed. "How about we start with you getting undressed and coming here."

"What?" squeaked Carolina.

"That was perfectly plain and understandable. Get undressed and come here."

"I guess all is forgiven," Carolina muttered as she complied with the demand. Elsa watched her with an odd detached air.

Unclothed Carolina noticed that the room was still a little chilly. She moved closer to Elsa. "Aren't you getting undressed?"

"I don't know yet," Elsa replied. And then with a swirl of her forefinger she wrapped Fitz's wrists in ice. "We'll see how this goes."

"What," yelped Carolina. "What are you doing?"

Elsa gestured again with her finger. An icy rope grew from the headboard to Fitz's wrist and then it pulled her so that she was stretched out down the center of the bed with her arms over her head.

"Honey, what are you doing?" Carolina's pitch wavered slightly.

"I'm deciding what questions I want to ask, so that you will know what I would have you say," Elsa purred deep in her throat, like a growl, like a tiger having brought down a lamb. Carolina's eyes widened. Were all women capable of making that sound? The look in her beloved eyes was not comforting either, intense, exciting perhaps… but not comforting.

"OK," Elsa announced, "I have decided what I wish to know. We will start the interrogation now." With that she ran her fingers slowly up Carolina's abdomen, up her chest and then flicked her nipples, which were by now standing upright in the cool air.

Carolina hissed and found herself whimpering. If she had been in any state to appreciate the irony of her … position … and what had led to her being there, she might have chuckled. She did not.

"So, let's discuss this Comtesse," Elsa started, looming over her. "I want to know  _ **all**_  about her."


	2. Chapter 2

“A delivery for you, Your Grace. A gift I believe.” The footman brought a box in. Lady Charlotte, Comtesse de Artois was not expecting a delivery, but gifts from her many admirers were not uncommon, and always a delicious diversion.

“Oh, a present, how delightful. Does it say whom it is from?”

“It has a letter attached, Your Excellency. I believe the tax seals indicate it comes from Arendelle.”

“Arendelle!” Charlotte's face lit up. There was only one person she knew in Arendelle, and it was the very person from whom she had hoped to hear, Austrian night life being a true contradiction in terms.

She took the package and laid it on the table. It was packed with exquisite care. She opened the thin wooden outer box to find several layers of padding beneath. These encased another box, this one more substantial, intricately carved and painted, white with inlaid with purple and red embellishments. What did those quaint little people call it? Oh yes, rosemaling. When she opened the inner box, she found two carefully dried flowers, a crocus and a red rose, entwined with each other. The Comtesse pursed her lips. It was a beautiful display, surrounded by dried greenery and tied with a lush ribbon of purple and green. It just wasn't what she was expecting.

It seemed an odd gesture to send two flowers, no matter how attractively arranged, that far. Further the whole display indicated an attention to detail … detail about flowers and boxes, not about sailing ships … she had never known Fitz to possess. Perhaps age was mellowing her? Perhaps she had been hit on the head very hard? Perhaps there was some special symbolic significance – most likely sexual, it was Fitz, after all – to this gift. Perhaps the letter would make it all clear.

She pushed the box aside and pulled open the envelope. She should have noticed the royal seal of Arendelle as the letterhead on the paper, but her eyes went immediately to the neat handwriting centered in the middle of the page. This was certainly not Fitz's illegible scrawl.

 

_“MY DEAR COUNTESS, – I must thank you Sincerely for your Handsome Gift on my latest birthday. I am flattered that you would entrust with me something so Precious, so vigorously Vigilant, and so indescribably Magnificent. Believe me that I shall treat your Gift with all the Patience and Love that I am able. I shall keep your Gift close Always. Accept this Token that you might be reminded of This._

_Yours with Gratitude,_

_Elsa, Queen of Arendelle_

 

Charlotte frowned in confusion. She didn't know the Queen of Arendelle. She certainly hadn't sent the woman a birthday gift. Why, then, would she …. Something didn't make sense. She looked again at the package. Pieces of the puzzle began to arrange themselves in her head.

“Wilhelm,” she called out to her butler

“Madam,” he replied entering the room.

“What is the official flower of Arendelle?”

“It is the crocus, Your Excellency; you can see it on their crest. It is one of the few flowers to bloom early in that harsh climate.”

Charlotte felt her lip curling into a snarl. “And that of Avalon?”

“The rose, milady … and I believe that King William has specified the red rose given his ancestry.”

Charlotte dismissed him with a nod and waited until the door had closed completely. Then the box flew across the room smashing into the fireplace. A fitting place for it, she thought …. a thought followed by a nearly silent exclamation. “That bitch.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
